


4. Capital J-E-A-L-O-U-S-Y!

by WhatLocked



Series: 50 Reasons [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: - kind of, Armchairsex, Jealousy, John is one of his things, M/M, Rimming, Sherlock is very possessive of his things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: Part 4 of my 50 Reasons sees Sherlock getting very (most certainly not) jealous after catching John flirting with a woman, even if it is for a case.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Holy Wow! I was starting to think no one was going to make another suggestion to keep this series going, but nearly eight months later, and here it is, and all thanks to ThePreachersHusband for suggesting “Jealousy-Sherlock finds John flirting BACK with a woman and feels the need to take him home and remind him why he doesn't need women, that way, in his life anymore.”
> 
> I do apologise, as this was suggested a while ago now, but unfortunately, between working on other fic’s and that dreaded things called real life, this one got put back on the back-burner for a bit - but, it is here now.  
> As always, I love your support, but most of all, I love your suggestions, so please feel free to leave one! But for now, here is the next fic in my ’50 Reasons’ Series. Hope you enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was, by nature, a possessive man.  He only had things that he liked and he most certainly did not share those things.  It was a habit his mother had tried to get him out of as a young boy but all her attempts had been met with tantrums, sulking and outright refusal to co-operate until whatever it was she had tried to get him to share was given back to him.  As he got older this trait had not lessened any.  He liked something, he obtained that something, he made sure no-one else got their grubby, cheap-manicured, chipped-polished, two-bit-trollopy, black-mailing hands on that something and that went for the flakey, trashy suspect that currently had her money-grubbing talons resting on _his Johns_ arm.  Okay, fine, it wasn’t actually the suspect,  he was currently getting dirt on his next victim, but it was his partner (the term being loosely used - just like the woman herself) and while Sherlock had been going through the suspects hotel room looking for evidence John, _his John,_ was supposed to be making sure the suspect didn’t arrive back to the hotel early, by watching the only entrance of the seedy motel, which was through the bar entrance.

He most certainly was not supposed to be sitting and drinking wine and - was he laughing with her now?  That was a genuine laugh.  This was not on.  The blood was starting to simmer in Sherlocks veins as the hussy leant over to whisper something in Johns ear, placing her hand on his thigh - right up on his thigh - as she did so, but it was Johns quick glance down at her clearly fake, and cheaply constructed cleavage that caused Sherlock to actually boil over.  

Without another thought to the case - instructions had been sent to Lestrade, he could take over from here- Sherlock stalked into the dimly lit bar and right up to John and the dim-witted wench that was trying to seduce something that was clearly out of her league.  

“Leaving.  Now John” was all he said as he pushed his way between the two bar stools, effectively pushing her hand off of Johns leg and making her sit back so quickly that she sloshed wine over her knock-off designer outfit.  Then with a glare, first at John and then a more intensified one at her, Sherlock spun around and stalked out of the building to hail a cab.

“Want to tell me what all of that was about?”  John asked as the cab sped away towards Baker Street, and Sherlock bristled at the fact that he had the audacity to be annoyed at Sherlock.

“You clearly were not doing the task set out.  If you had, you would have chosen the corner booth and not had your back to the door.  You were supposed to be my back-up, John.  It’s a big reassurance to know that a pair of silicone breasts comes before making sure I am not caught unawares by a man that has the potential to be extremely violent” he added sarcastically.

Sherlock expected John to look guilty, offer a contrite apology at least.  What he didn’t expect was for the bark of laughter that left Johns mouth.  Sherlock scowled at John.  

“I am glad that you find my safety so amusing.”

Johns laughter turned into a ridiculously wide, smug grin.  “You were jealous” he stated.

Sherlock frowned again and turned to look out the window.  “I can assure you, John, I was most certainly not jealous.”

A small giggle left Johns mouth and this just irritated Sherlock further. 

“Yeah, you were” he reasserted and Sherlock stayed silent, refusing to take the bait.  He wasn’t jealous.  He just had a strict set of boundaries when it came to his things and _she_ had clearly crossed those boundaries.  He was annoyed.  Definitely _not_ jealous.

~o~

Several hours later and Sherlock was still stewing on the incident at the pub.  An hour and a half after they arrived home Sherlock had relocated to the bedroom, slamming the door shut, just so John knew he wasn’t welcome to follow.    

John was being disgustingly cheery, more so than normal.  He was humming and texting Lestrade and whistling as he made tea.  When Mrs Hudson had come up to deliver a parcel that had been dropped off for Sherlock while they had been out they gossiped happily about the married ones next door for a few minutes.  When she left, John placed the parcel on the coffee table, happily telling Sherlock it was there (as if he hadn’t figured it out for himself).  When Sherlock made no reply John hummed in that amused way that he has and said, “Still jealous, then.”  It was then that Sherlock had decided he had had enough and had promptly taken himself to their room, not looking at John once.  He purposefully ignored the chuckle that had followed him down the hallway.

Sherlock flopped back down on the bed and closed his eyes.  Instantly he opened them again as when they were shut images of John laughing with that woman and looking down her top flashed in his mind.  Not things he wanted to be reminded of.  He let out a sigh.  Twelve weeks they had been together.  It was more than Sherlock had hoped for, seeing as John had spent over twenty years of his life chasing women, dating women and only having sex with women.  To be honest, Sherlock was surprised that it had actually gone on as long as it had.  It was best he resigned himself to the fact that John would, _had_ , started to miss women.  Soon he would start to get bored with the novelty of sleeping with a man and the call of perky breasts and a moist vagina would become too strong.  Two things Sherlock most definitely could not offer him.  Soon, John would lose interest in the joys of homoerotic sex and want to go back to his usual, comfortable heterosexual habits.  It was a pity.  The sex that they had was good.  No, it wasn’t good.  It was, as John quite often noted, fucking fantastic.   

Sherlock frowned up at the ceiling, watching as it went from white to grey as the sun set outside.  It _was_ fantastic sex.  Not that Sherlock had partaken in a great deal of it before John, but from what he had, the sex with John was far better than anything he had experienced in his younger years.  And, to be honest, John too had vocalised on how sex with Sherlock was much more exceptional than  with his previous partners.  

This thought gave Sherlock something else to stew on.  If the sex was so good, then why in the world would John’s eyes be wandering elsewhere.  Sherlock frowned in the semi-darkness.  It was true that Sherlock didn’t share his things.  It was also true that he didn’t give up on the things that he thoroughly enjoyed either (the drugs being the only exception, but that was because Mycroft was both efficient and stubborn and Sherlock had been too wasted to outwit him - not a mistake he was likely to make again.) so it would only stand to reason that he was most certainly not going to sit back and let some woman take his John away.  There was a reason that the past twelve weeks had been the best twelve weeks of both their lives and it was going to have to be up to Sherlock to remind John, just why he would never need a woman in his life ever again.

With a plan firmly in place, Sherlock got off of the bed and stripped off  - he had preparations to make.

~o~

Fifteen minutes later Sherlock strutted out of their bedroom with an over abundance of confidence and into the living room, stopping right in front of Johns chair, where the other man was sat, reading the paper.

“John” Sherlock announced, ripping the paper from Johns hands and throwing it over his shoulder.  John opened his mouth, to more than likely yell at Sherlock, but Sherlock continued, not letting him get a word in.  “You are mine.  I’m not giving you up or letting you go.  I will not share or play nice with anyone who thinks they have the right to touch you.  I am possessive and controlling but apparently I have not been giving you enough attention if you feel the need to think that you need woman in your life again.”

“Sherlock, I don’t…” John tried, but Sherlock kept going.

“I intend to rectify this problem, right now.”  Without further warning, Sherlock dropped onto Johns lap and straddled his thighs.  If John had any objections to Sherlocks actions, then they were swallowed as Sherlock placed his lips over Johns and pushed his tongue into Johns mouth.  He was met with a deep moan and the reciprocation of Johns tongue pushing back into his own mouth.  Not wanting to waste another minute Sherlocks hands flew up to Johns chest and started undoing buttons at a rather impressive speed, due to the fact that his hands weren’t as steady as he would have liked and once they were all undone John was more than useful in removing the annoying piece of cloth completely.  They were finally made to pull apart when Sherlock yanked Johns vest up over his head and threw it somewhere over his shoulder.

John leaned back in to resume their kiss, but Sherlock placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back, answering Johns confused look by sliding off of his lap to kneel down on the floor between Johns now spread legs.  If Johns throaty groan was anything to go by, this was fine by him.  

Just like the shirt, it took no time at all for Sherlock to divest John of his trousers and pants.  With the man finally as naked as Sherlock himself, Sherlock grabbed him by the hips and pulled him so his arse was right on the edge of the chair.  John reclined back so his shoulders were against the back of the chair and let Sherlock do whatever he wanted with his body.  This pleased Sherlock to no end and he proceeded to carry out his plan to remind John why he would never need anyone else, _this way_ , ever again.

He began this friendly reminder my lapping Johns testicles into his mouth, gently sucking and rolling them around on his tongue, one at a time.  Johns initial reaction had been to cry out, quite loudly, the sudden attention on such a sensitive area not at all being expected.   Once they had had an adequate amount of attention, Sherlock moved his mouth further down, lapping and nipping at Johns perineum.  John groaned, needy and plaintive, his hips pushing down, just slightly, trying to get more, to get less, to get it all. 

Sherlocks hands went to Johns knees and pushed his legs further up and further out to give Sherlock more room to move his head down further, nosing at the crease where thigh met groin as his tongue danced over the delicate skin between scrotum and anus.  

Above him, John was breathing heavily through his nose and without looking, Sherlock knew that he was biting his bottom lip from keeping himself  from making the needy noises that Sherlock oh so loved to hear.  That just wasn’t on, so Sherlock decided that it was time to up the ante.  When he was finished John would be hoarse from all of the vocalisation that he wouldn’t be able to hold in.  

Sherlock moved down further, his tongue lapping out in small little licks until it found what it was after.  

“ _Fffffuuuuck_ ” John hissed as Sherlocks tongue made contact with the tight, furled entrance to Johns body, and his hips gave a delightful little twitch. 

It wasn’t enough.

His tongue worked in circles, running around the outside rim, his lips adding the occasional kiss before his tongue got back to work.  He moved from circles to using the flat of his tongue to lick broad stripes from the top curve of Johns gluteal crease, over his hole and up to his scrotum and then back down again.  This was repeated a few times, eliciting more restrained thrusts from Johns hips and bitten back groans as only one of his hands came up to stroke Sherlocks hair.  He frowned.  Why stroke, when he could pull.  Obviously, it still wasn’t enough so Sherlock pushed Johns legs as far as the arm chair would allow them and set back to work, licking and sucking at Johns hole until saliva was running down his chin.  It was then, and only then that he pointed his tongue and pushed it into that hole, thrusting as far as he could.  A loud cry left Johns mouth and Sherlock grinned as the soft placement of Johns hand on his head turned into a sharp tug of his hair and this just fuelled Sherlock to work harder.  His tongue continued to probe Johns opening and the muscles that had begun to relax at Sherlocks earlier ministrations tensed around the muscle that was currently inside of him.  

“ _Oh, god, yeah, Sherlock, god, don’t….hnnng, don’t stop_ ” came the panted ramblings of John as his right leg made it over Sherlocks left shoulder and a second hand joined in the first, alternating between pulling Sherlocks hair, to pulling his entire head forward, to rubbing over the locks and then back to puling the hair.  Sherlock managed to sneak a hand up and around Johns cock and started stroking it in time with the thrusting of his tongue and a high-pitched whine filled his ears as John, with no co-ordination whatsoever, thrust up into Sherlocks fist or down on to his tongue.

Sherlock knew the signs of when John Watson was about to orgasm.  The quivering of large muscle groups, most noticeably his thighs, the increase in pre-come, the tightening of his ball sack, the non-coherent gibberish, interspersed with words of praise, that tumbled from his mouth and as the words “ _Holy, hhharhhh, Sher….god, Jesus, you’re, more, gonna, fuck, fuck, hnnng_ ” left Johns mouth Sherlock knew it was time to pull out, so, unwrapping his fingers from around Johns cock, that is exactly what he did.  He pulled his tongue out of Johns arse and sat back on his heels.

“No, wait…WHAT!”  John cried out as Sherlock pulled away and Sherlock actually flinched as Johns fingers tightened in his hair.  “Why did you stop, I was almost…”

Sherlock shuffled closer to the chair and leant over, silencing Johns complaints with his own lips.  Johns fingers loosened their grip as he kissed back, licking into Sherlocks mouth.

“My point” Sherlock growled seductively as he pulled away from Johns mouth, “Was to get you to realise why you no longer need to look to women anymore.  I’m not going to prove that, John, with my tongue” and with that, he pushed his tongue back into Johns mouth and reaching under the couch cushions he found what he was looking for, pulling out a small bottle of lube and thanking a nonexistent entity for John Watson’s good foresight to leave lube bottles in various places around the flat.  (It was either that or Sherlock was not allowed anywhere near Johns arse, not after the hall cupboard incident and the need for icepacks straight afterwards!)

It took no time at all to slick his fingers up and push two straight into John with minimal resistance due to his tongues efforts mere moments before.  John let out a grunt of discomfort, resulting in a sharp nip to Sherlocks upper lip,  but it didn’t take long for the discomfort to turn into pleasure and then he was moaning into Sherlocks mouth, non-verbally asking for more and who was Sherlock to deny?  By the time that Sherlock had three fingers buried inside of John, John had slid off of the chair and onto Sherlocks lap, which was just fine with Sherlock as that is where he had wanted John to end up, so when Sherlock pulled his fingers out of John, it was just a case of John lifting up and then lowering himself back down onto Sherlocks very hard and very eager cock.

“I won’t last long” John whispered as he bottomed out and then groaned when Sherlock pushed up.

“I don’t care” was Sherlocks reply, and then grabbing John, hard, by the hips, he started thrusting, as much as his knelt position would allow.  It didn’t take long for John to start moving, pushing up on his knees and dropping back down again, each descent causing a ‘ _huh_ ’ to escape his mouth.  

“God, you feel so good, John” Sherlock rasped, watching as John sunk down onto him over and over again, his muscles clenching around Sherlocks length each time he did.  Johns reply was to start moving faster, rotating his hips every now and then, pulling deep moans from Sherlock each time he did.  

“Touch me” John gasped, grabbing Sherlocks hand and placing it over his erection, which had been slapping against their bellies with every thrust, leaving little tacky dots of pre-come wherever it hit.  John returned his hand to Sherlocks shoulder and continued to ride his cock, pushing down harder as Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John and started stroking.  Every time John rotated his hips, Sherlock added a twist to his wrist on the upstroke and, true to his word, after only a few strokes, John was throwing his head back and shouting out Sherlocks name as come pulsed out over Sherlocks fist, splashing against both of their abdomens.  “Oh, fuck” John cried out, with less enthusiasm this time, as he pulsed out that last spurt of come, stilling on Sherlocks lap in order to kiss him.  Sherlock pushed back into the kiss, not caring about the mess on his hand as he moved back to grip both of Johns hips.  The gesture spurred John into moving again and it only took a few more bounces of the other man on Sherlocks cock, and Sherlock was curling into him, his teeth sinking into Johns shoulder as climax ripped through his body as his hips thrust up and his hands held tighter, pulling down, burying him deeper inside of John as he pulsed ribbons of his own come inside of the man on his lap.

They both sunk into each other and let the norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide and prolactin wash through their bodies, lulling them into a blissful sense of relaxation, where only the two of them mattered - existed, even.

It was a while that they sat there, John on Sherlocks lap, leaning back against the chair, Sherlock leaning against John with his head on the other mans shoulder, being held close by Johns arms around his waist.  The sweat was cooling on their bodies and his ejaculate was starting to feel a bit more than uncomfortable.  He could only imagine what John was feeling, what with it seeping out of his body and all, and there was going to be a stain on Mrs Hudson’s rug now.  Maybe it was time that they got it professionally cleaned.  Or replaced.  

“There honestly was no reason to be jealous today Sherlock” John said quietly, pulling Sherlock away from all thoughts of stains and rugs.  

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“You were, and I promise, I was not at all attracted to that woman.  I was stalling her because she had turned down another drink from the bartender, stating she had to get back to her room to get some equipment to take back to her fiancé’.  Trust me, using one of my cheesy pick up lines what not my finest plan, but it worked.”  

“You ‘ _accidentally’_ dropped your old Military ID card on the counter, didn’t you.”

“Woman like that doesn’t give a shit about a soldier” John answered by way of reply.  

“ID tag for the hospital?”

John chuckled in confirmation and Sherlock smiled into his shoulder.  It didn’t last long.  “Her hand was on your thigh” he muttered, trying not to sound petulant.  “Really high on your thigh.”

A small sigh left Johns throat and he held Sherlock that bit tighter.  “I was pulling everything to get her to stay, Sherlock.  Twice she went to leave and unless she thought she was actually going to get anywhere with me then all the charm in the world wasn’t going to get her to stay, so, yeah, I let her put her hand on my leg and then though that I might not be so angry if you tested out different strengths of acid on those particular pair of jeans sometime in the foreseeable future.”

Sherlock thought that sounded like a rather marvellous idea and started cataloguing what sorts of acids he had on hand and what ones he could get John to go out and purchase.  John obviously took his silence as still brooding, which it probably would have been had the idea of several experiments not started forming in his head.  
“Sherlock, she probably has her own personalised mug down at the local S.H. clinic.  Not really my type, love”  he reassured.

“You laughed with her” and the frown on Sherlocks face returned.

He could feel John smiling against the side of his head.  This didn’t improve his frown at all.  “Yeah, while you were going through their room there was an incident with a guy and old lady and, you know what…you had to be there.” Sherlock doubted that even if he had been there, he would have found humour in the situation.  “But I promise, it was nothing to do with her personality.”

“You looked at her breasts, John.”

“Of course I did, unfortunately Sherlock, I am your average red-blooded male.  I do actually appreciate a set of nice breasts , but that was not why I was looking.  I was looking because whoever made those implants did a god awful job.”

There was silence.

“I can’t give you breasts, John”

“Jesus, Sherlock - I don’t want you to give me breasts.  If I never feel another set of breasts in my life, I will be okay with that, and while, yes, on the odd occasion I do admire a nice set of breasts it doesn’t mean I am going to ogle them or try and grope them.  I don’t feel like I am missing out on anything, Sherlock.  I am happy, right here, right now with you and I will continue being happy right here, right now with you for as long as you will let me.”

Sherlock didn’t move from where he was resting against John, even though his shoulders were aching from being hunched down in order to be able to rest his head on Johns shoulder.  A small, content sigh left his mouth when Johns hand gently started rubbing small circles into his lower back.

“You know” John said, sounding a bit sleepy and Sherlock thought that it might be a good idea to move themselves to their bed.  “Your jealousy…”

“…I wasn’t jealous…”

“…was a little bit hot.”

“Maybe I was jealous, but just a bit.”

“Hmm.  Definitely jealous” John hummed in agreeance, and if John thought jealousy was hot then Sherlock could quite easily find more situations to show just how jealous he could get.

 


End file.
